Page 23 of Reckless Seduction
“Shower, dear.” Her tone isn’t gentle, but it isn’t brusque either. It is more along the lines of pure indifference. That, in itself, is impressive, since I doubt she’s come across many situations like this one.
My gut churns. Unless she has. How many women have they taken “prisoner” before me?
Why do I care? Shaking off the weird, possessive thoughts, I nod at Nan, my feet hitting the soft carpet floor of the room as I make to stand up.
“Leave the gown,” she orders.
“But—”
“Leave it,” she orders again, her voice harsher now. “Dani here will need it with her to be cleaned. This isn’t the place for modesty and weakness. You are a prisoner to two of the most powerful Irishmen in the country, and you will be put to the test. Swallow your pride and any preconceived notions about what you think you know about mafia families, and you just might survive. Understood?”
Swallowing back the sudden lump of fear welling in my throat, I nod my head weakly, her words sharper than any blow I’ve taken in a while.
“Good.” She nods her head sharply. “Now, into the shower with you and then come on out. I have some clothes for you.”
She looks away as I strip the gown from my body and travel the brief distance to the bathroom. I hurry through my shower routine, doing more of a whore’s wash than anything else. It doesn’t seem right to keep her waiting, especially since I took a full shower with Kiernan last night.
A sliver of arousal shoots through me at the memory of Kiernan’s hands soaping my body, and it takes everything I have in me not to dip my fingers between my thighs at the thought of him doing it again.
Ugh, there is something wrong with me.
I shouldn’t want them.
It is wrong.
They killed a man in front of me. Kidnapped me.
My vagina and I should hate them. Little miss hussy, however, isn’t getting the picture. She just continues to wave her pom-poms around like it is the fucking Super Bowl.
Maybe I can get a lobotomy when this is all over.
Sighing in defeat, wondering what the hell is going on with my libido, I shut the water off and grab a towel to dry myself with. I’ve never been like this before.
Wanting sex.
No,needingsex.
They’ve woken something in me that has been lying dormant. I don’t understand the sudden need to be touched by them. I’d never been a fan of PDA with Drew, mostly because the only time he touched me other than sex was at social functions where we played the joyful couple.
I thought we’d been somewhat happy and content. Looking back, I realize how often I failed to see the signs. The red flags. The first time after I turned eighteen had been fine. Nothing special. I moved some of my things to his condo, but he made it clear he didn’t want to live together until after we were married. Our sex life had been active, but for me, undesirable. I did it more out of obligation and never initiated. Drew might have been the one who took my virginity, but Kiernan had been the one to give me my first orgasm that wasn’t by my own hand. Up until last night, I had no idea that sex with a man could be so pleasurable.
Wrapping the towel around me, I step back into the bedroom, where Nan still waits. Dani is gone, along with her stuff.
Good.
The two of us stare at one another for a moment, neither of us speaking. She is the first to break the silence.
“Go on then and get dressed.” She ushers me toward the small stack of clothes she set on the bed and straightens the room back to what it was before I arrived. Picking up the first piece of clothing, I realize that it is mine.
“The boys managed to get your suitcase from the car.” She smiles warmly as I slip on the cozy black leggings and blue tunic blouse. “Once things are more settled, I’ll have them bring everything up.”
No need. I won’t be staying that long.
“Thank you…” I’m not sure what to call her. Nan seems like a family nickname. Her luminous eyes widen, and her smile grows. She didn’t expect me to thank her. Under the circumstances, I can see why, but having something of my own, even if it’s just my clothes, makes me feel somewhat normal.
“Siobhan, dear,” she informs me as she takes the soiled towel from my hands, placing it in the hamper by the door. “But you may call me Nan.”
“Thank you, Nan.” I smile at her, more at ease.
